


Arrangements

by adventuring



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adventuring/pseuds/adventuring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The knife doesn't mean you're in charge of me," Mark told him. Eduardo laughed, nails scraping Mark's skin as he pulled the shirt up again. "It's not an exchange of power; it's just about how it feels. Endorphins. What are you doing?" Fingers clenching around the hilt of the blade, Eduardo bit his lip, stilling in his descent toward Mark's stomach. He hadn't led with the knife, not like he should have. It had looked like he'd been about to press his lips above Mark's waistband. Mark fidgeted.</p><p>"Nothing," said Eduardo. "Don't I have the power if I have the knife?"</p><p>"Don't be stupid," said Mark, rolling his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://tsn-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/12119.html?thread=21471063) at tsn_kinkmeme.

"Tie me up," Mark said.

Eduardo shook his head, rooting around in the night-stand drawer. "No," he said as he turned back to Mark. He flicked the switchblade open, and Mark cocked his head, swallowing. It was small and nondescript, and Mark wondered where he'd gotten it, how long he'd had it. What he'd used it for, before this.

"Why not?"

Eduardo knelt on the bed and inched over to Mark. His fingers were clenched against the hilt of the blade, tension writ clear in his features. Mark craned his head to look up at him, trying to tease out the answer from the narrowing of his eyes, the set of his lips. He couldn't. Eduardo didn't reply.

He squirmed when Eduardo rucked his shirt up, pressing warm, soft fingers against his abdomen. Eduardo pulled back and let his shirt fall back into place, and Mark froze immediately, bereft and irritatingly anxious. "You can be still on your own, Mark," said Eduardo, admonishing.

"So you want me to be good for you, basically," Mark said, injecting what he felt was an appropriate amount of incredulity into the words. Eduardo cracked a grin, amused and exasperated and ever so slightly superior all at once; his speciality.

"I want you to be still, actually."

"The knife doesn't mean you're in charge of me," Mark told him. Eduardo laughed, nails scraping Mark's skin as he pulled the shirt up again. "It's not an exchange of power; it's just about how it feels. Endorphins. What are you doing?" Fingers clenching around the hilt of the blade, Eduardo bit his lip, stilling in his descent toward Mark's stomach. He hadn't led with the knife, not like he should have. It had looked like he'd been about to press his lips above Mark's waistband. Mark fidgeted.

"Nothing," said Eduardo. "Don't I have the power if I have the knife?"

"Don't be stupid," said Mark, rolling his eyes.

Unbuttoning Mark's jeans with one hands, Eduardo's retort was nothing more than a weary, "Don't be obnoxious." And then he pressed against Mark's stomach with one hand and used the second, which still held the blade, to slide Mark's jeans down. The blue band of his boxers peaked out.

It was beginning to be a struggle to remain outwardly impassive with the way his insides squirmed. He scowled at Eduardo; all the taunting was unnecessary. "Don't be a _dick_."

"Don't be so impatient," Eduardo replied, and then he spun the knife, brought it down against Mark's belly, and dragged down.

Mark's back arched instantly, even though the initial sensation was nothing but pressure that eventually became sharpness, a sting. When it came, he groaned, audible even behind clenched teeth. There was a moment of euphoria, nothing but his beating heart, and then he came back into himself and went still against the bed, remembering Eduardo's extraneous but essentially harmless instructions. There was no reason they couldn't both get what they wanted out of this.

"Good," Eduardo said, watching. He brought the knife down again, an inch from the first line, which had bloomed red. Mark squeezed his eyes shut as he waited, clenching his hands against his stomach, but it didn't come. Instead, he felt a pressure against his wrist, and when he opened his eyes again, it was to Eduardo's arranging him carefully, arms to his sides and palms upward. He never looked at Mark, never said, "Don't move them," but Mark knew. He understood.

Eduardo pressed the tip of the blade back against Mark's stomach. It dimpled his skin, which went white with the pressure. Eduardo inched up, sitting up further on his knees. His legs bracketed Mark's right thigh. When he pressed forward against Mark's hard-on, Mark's every muscle tensed in his effort not to move, to press back against Eduardo until the rush built up.

Eduardo dragged it down again.

This time, Mark kept quiet, but he bit his lip, the crown of his head heavy against the pillow, neck exposed. Eduardo's fingertips tickled his side. When he looked, Mark couldn't interpret the expression with which Eduardo regarded him, had no frame of reference. "You want more?" he asked, and Mark shrugged, unwilling to vocalize something so self-evident.

He drew four lines against Mark's stomach, each lower until the last met the waistband of his boxers. They were close enough together that Mark couldn't differentiate, just knew that it throbbed and that he couldn't stay still, couldn't stop himself from rubbing against Eduardo's knee, from clenching his hands, from pressing into the blade and away from it in turns. "More?" Eduardo said again, and Mark nodded, mouth so dry his throat ached when he swallowed. "Are you _sure_ , Mark?" he prompted.

"You have a constant need for reassurance," said Mark. He couldn't tear his eyes off the knife held loosely in Eduardo's hand, felt in another place entirely removed from this second-guessing. Eduardo's mouth twisted sourly.

"Gee, thanks." He inched Mark's boxer's down this time, sliding them back under the jeans. He moved slowly, deliberately, never brushing Mark's erection. His knee still pressed against it. For a moment, he set the knife down, and he pressed one hand to Mark's stomach, heavy against the cuts, and then he slid it lower, his thumb brushing just above Mark's pubic hair. He stared down determinedly, eyes hooded and dark.

"Wardo," Mark said.

Eduardo nodded without looking up, resolute as if he'd imagined another meaning to Mark's words to which Mark himself wasn't privy. "Do you want to get off?" he asked, and Mark's breath caught in his throat, the required answer completely lost to him. He held still instead, and eventually Eduardo gave up waiting and picked the knife up again.

"You can rub off against me. This is the last one," he said, the finality of the instructions belied by the way his voice broke for just an instant, but Mark listened anyway. Could barely help himself.

It made his muscles ache, the way he had to move to do it, and it probably ruined Eduardo's line. This one certainly hurt more than the rest, hurt immediately and, from what Mark could see through slitted eyes, bled more. The moment the bite of the blade was gone, Eduardo's palm came down against his belly again. Mark's panted and pushed up against his knee, groaning and biting the inside of his cheek hard as he came.

When Mark's heartbeat finally calmed and he could open his eyes again, let the world back in, he realized that Eduardo had moved away already, was kneeling back, head bowed. Mark rubbed at his nose and then sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. "Eduardo," he said, thinking about it, and then finally, "I can suck you off."

Eduardo started, straightening. "I thought you didn't want to," he said, sounding hesitant, and Mark shrugged again, unwilling to explain himself this time. Eduardo regarded him for a beat, some internal conflict Mark could only imagine playing out across his face, and then he said, "If you want."

Mark slid down the bed, intending to pull Eduardo up onto the pillows, but Eduardo stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. "Can I—" he said, and stopped, teeth digging divots into his bottom lip. "What?" Mark asked, and then he followed the dart of Eduardo's eyes to the twist of rope Mark had brought with him, lying against the pillows. "Now?"

"Yeah," Eduardo said, almost apologetically, and Mark took a second to think it over, to consider, and then he held out his wrists. Eduardo's eyebrows rose. "Okay?"

"Okay," said Mark, feeling his cheeks warm. Eduardo laughed, barely more than a breath.

He crawled around Mark and tugged his arms behind his back until Mark's knuckles rested against the bedspread and he could feel the pull in his shoulders. Mark felt the rough scrape of the rope as Eduardo twined it around his wrists in one of the complicated knots Mark wasn't certain how he knew. When he was finished, Mark tested the knot, pushing outward until the rope bit into his skin on both sides. His breath sped. 

He expected Eduardo to push him down, to arrange them—something. Instead, he nodded to the floor expectantly, entirely disregarding Mark's answering scowl. Awkwardly, Mark extracted his legs from under himself and scooted off the bed, settling at the foot and glaring up at Eduardo darkly. "Do I need to unzip you with my teeth, too?" he asked, scathing, and Eduardo smirked even as his fingers went to his fly, easing it down over his hard-on. His cock strained against his underwear. Mark could see his jaw clench as he pulled them off.

If Mark had expected it to be hard and fast, he would have been disappointed; he hadn't been expecting anything. Eduardo stroked his hair, the back of his neck, brushed his hand over Mark's cheek. It was hard for Mark to go down on him from this angle, the bed just a little too high. It was frustrating not to be able to keep a hand at the base of Eduardo's dick, but he managed, losing himself in the rhythm, the slide, the quiet, choked sounds Eduardo made. The pressure of Eduardo's hand against his crown, the bite of the rope, the ache of the cuts on his stomach. His jaw was sore, and he was hard again, but it didn't matter.

Eduardo's fingers slid into Mark's hair and tugged as he came. Mark tipped his head back to watch Eduaro's chest rise and fall, to watch him relax again, to watch the furrow of his brow smooth out again. Eventually, he pulled away, and so did Mark, sitting back on his haunches. There was blood against the bedspread, just a bit, where he'd been leaning. It had seeped through his shirt.

When he looked, Eduardo was staring. "What?" he asked, and Eduardo sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, gaze flicking away immediately.

"Can I kiss you now," he said slowly, clearly, without meeting Mark's eyes, and Mark didn't even have to think about it, rested his head against the bed and Eduardo's knee and said, "You need to untie me first."

"Okay," Eduardo agreed, but neither made any move. He rubbed his forehead against Eduardo's thigh, belly throbbing, wrists burning, and he smiled, Eduardo's hand stroking his hair, over and over again.


End file.
